


Groomed

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Awful Ending, Body mutilation, Gen, Horror Ending, Long-Term Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Now With Unexpected Chapter 2, Stalking, The Grooming Is Not for Sexual Purposes, The Torture is Offscreen, everything is vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-03-10 13:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13502174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: The Sith of old were often cyborg, and twisted with horrifying decorative scarring.A certain Sith Lord wants Obi-Wan to be his next apprentice, but he needs to be perfect first.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Nine-year-old Anakin Skywalker did his best not to stare.

Staring at a freeman could get you in trouble.

The short young man who stood like a staunch guard dog by Qui-Gon's side was putting Ani's resolve to the test in a way that few others had.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Anakin had felt that the fingers weren't quite _human_ when he shook that hand earlier. Through the glove they'd felt robotic. And if Anakin listened _really_ closely, he could hear tiny servomotors whir as Obi-Wan moved.

The way he walked told Anakin the man experienced severe pain in movement, but that he had long grown accustomed to it. And though his eyes had been kind when he'd met Anakin, there was a grim line to his jaw that made Anakin wonder if he ever smiled.

None of that, however, was stareworthy.

The scars  _were._

The faint lines that Anakin wasn't even sure  _were_ scars that spidered around his face and down his throat like veins, only they weren't in the right places. The definite scar on his neck that looked like something had tried to tear his throat out, which had healed in uneven flesh, including a dent carved from behind his ear down diagonally across to the opposite collar bone.

Anakin could imagine the poor man with blood pouring out.

He had a cybernetic eye, and the scarring on his face didn't look like an animal had done it.

It looked like someone had really taken their time with a knife, and—

Anakin shivered.

Some of them looked very old, and others were still new enough to look painful.

Who would keep cutting him? And why would Mister Qui-Gon allow it?

Obi-Wan reached out that droid arm and tapped his mentor's elbow. The older man looked down at him, eyes going soft and sad a moment before Obi-Wan's damaged voice rasped, “May I have a minute?”

Qui-Gon gave a nod, glanced to make sure Ani was content to wait a bit, and then followed his apprentice out of the cockpit.

Anakin was alright with that.

The pilot was happy to show him the controls.

 

* * *  
  


“Master. Every second Anakin spends with us puts him in graver danger.”  
Qui-Gon sighed. “I know, Obi-Wan. But he's too powerful to be left untrained.”

“That only makes it worse.”

“We'll keep him safe—”

An unnaturally strong hand caught his wrist, refusing to let him leave. One green eye flashed, and the white one kept its uncanny sameness. “We haven't been able to stop this from happening to me. How will we protect  _him_ ? He's nine, Qui-Gon. He is safer with his mother.”  
“In  _slavery—_ ?”

“Look at me, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

The man did, but then his eyelids fell shut, pain twisting his face.

“We have to keep him off the Sith's radar. And so far, he's known  _everything_ we do, no matter what we've tried to cut his information source.”

“He probably already knows about Anakin. If we send him back, who's to say he won't just sweep him up?”  
Obi-Wan dragged a hand down his face, feeling wretched. “Master, I know you want to help. But our attention, when it comes to Force-sensitive children, is a  _curse._ You  _have to remember._ ” Obi-Wan's voice choked and a tear spilled from his remaining eye.

One he might not get to keep long.

Qui-Gon looked broken in this moment, and it wrecked Obi-Wan's heart to see it. The older man pulled him into a hug, and Obi-Wan pressed his face into his master's shoulder. “I know it breaks your heart to see them and to walk by; but you have to remember what follows us. I do not want this happening to anyone else.”  
“It's too late,” Qui-Gon murmured against the top of his head. “You're probably right. He's marked already. We'll just have to keep him safe.”  
_Oh, dear Force please._ “When we get him to the Temple, we need to distance ourselves from him. As far as possible. Let someone else train him. It's his only chance.”

“You're right,” was the whispered reply.

 

* * *

 

“I will train him, then.”  
Anakin could sense absolute dread flood the younger of the two.

Why was Obi-Wan Kenobi so afraid? And why did all the people sitting around the circle look  _horrified_ and afraid too?”

“Condemn him so easily, would you?” the green one asked.

Warm hands settled on Anakin's shoulders. “I will protect him.”  
Eyes widened in disbelief before glancing around as if to see if the rest felt as shocked at the words.

“All due respect to your talents,” the one in charge replied, “you clearly  _can't._ ”

An almost silent breath eased out of Obi-Wan, and that made  _Anakin_ afraid.

Qui-Gon seemed to be the only one confident.

 

* * *

 

“Don't ask this of me,” Obi-Wan begged through the tears. “Master, don't. I cannot protect myself. How can I protect  _him_ ?”  
“It's you the Sith wants,” Qui-Gon whispered, his strength fading fast.

“I'm going to be old news once he senses Anakin.”

“But he's spent over a decade shaping you. He wouldn't throw away all that work. Anakin  _is_ the only one powerful enough to save you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “He is a child. I would not risk him for me even if it were my last chance.”

But his master was bleeding out in his arms, and as grief dragged Obi-Wan into hopeless night...

He promised, so Qui-Gon could find peace.

And then he held his dead master in reconstructed arms and wondered...

_What have I done?_

 

* * *

 

Anakin sat perched on the edge of the bed, looking so lost and afraid.

Obi-Wan crouched before him so he wouldn't tower over the little one, wishing he could take away the fear.

The grim truth was he would need to instill more.

“I promised to train you,” Obi-Wan explained, voice gentle, “and that may be the worst thing I have ever done in my life.”

Anakin's eyes widened.

“Among the Jedi there are generational lines. Master and apprentice and then their apprentice down through the ages. Lineage, of sorts. Pedigree.”

That word left understanding in Anakin's eyes.

“I am the last of a very, very old line. And there is a very cruel man who is obsessed with me because of it, and because of my specific gift in the Force.”

Anakin's eyes saddened. “He is the one who cut you?”  
“Yes. Every few months he catches me, and—”  _I lose another body part._ Sidious had almost finished with the left calf. A couple more visits, and then it would be the knee. “He wants me to be his successor. He is changing my body to look more like the ancient Sith Lords of the past. And someday, when he is done preparing me, I fear he will not let me go.”

Anakin stared down at his hands, the small fingers clutching each other in his lap. “What is a Sith?”  
“Powerful beings who want to make the whole universe into slaves.”

Horror flooded the child's eyes. Obi-Wan could read that his own worst nightmare had just become Anakin's. For a moment they were just two younglings, one afraid of the Jedi Killers; the other of the worst Slaver he could conceive of.

“You won't let him make you something like him?” Anakin protested.

Obi-Wan could feel the bite of the knife again. It had taken years for him to realize this part of his life was not going away. “I'm trying, Anakin,” he whispered. “If I keep my promise and train you, you will become part of our line. And you glow very bright in the Force, Anakin.”

“You think he would want me.”

“I very much fear so.”

“What happens if  _you_ don't train me?”

“The Council has decided that you will be trained, if you wish it. If you do not train with me, you could train with another Jedi. One who won't vanish every so often.” Obi-Wan tried to make his tone light. Left out the  _and be dropped off bloodied afterwards._

Anakin's expression sagged. “I— promises are important to keep.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured, “they are. But to keep a promise even when it begins to harm innocent beings... that is no longer a good thing. If I keep my promise, you  _will be hurt,_ even if the Sith never lays a finger on you. You deserve better than this.”

“You're going to give me away?”

_Please listen to reason._ “I want us to make this decision together.”

Cold, small fingers reached out and squeezed Obi-Wan's own tight. “It'll make you more afraid if I stay with you, won't it.”

“Every second of every day,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin nodded. “I don't think Mister Qui-Gon will hate you for breaking your promise, when it would make you miserable and might hurt me too. He wanted us to be okay.”

“Yes, he did. Very much,” Obi-Wan agreed, tears burning his living eye.

Anakin scooted forward to wrap him in a hug, and Obi-Wan's arms came up to hold tight to the little one.

“You'll help me find someone right for me?” Anakin pleaded.

Obi-Wan nodded, stroking his thumb against Anakin's back. “Of course. You will be a Jedi, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin loved Plo Koon.

He was powerful, and respected, he had control over himself and his own vast power, and a gentleness in claws that could rip out most beings' innards with little effort.

Plo Koon was like his mom: ferociously strong, beautifully tender.

The five years he'd spent at his master's side had been  _good_ years.

That first one had been the hardest, when just a day after Qui-Gon's death, Obi-Wan went missing from the Temple.

The whole place had been on edge, as if a countdown were ticking. He caught glimpses into rooms where the best minds the Republic had tried to locate both  _how_ he'd been taken and  _where_ he'd been taken to.

Anakin was in the hallway when a stretcher was rushed past, Obi-Wan Kenobi lying on it, trembling, eyes glassy, covered in blood.

Anakin hadn't been able to see just what new addition to the sculpture the Sith had inflicted, there had been too much crimson...

But he'd felt the terrible sickness in his gut that the rest of the Jedi felt at the knowledge of what had been done to the bright light who had just lost his master.

Plo Koon held Anakin that night, simply cradling him as the child wept bitter tears of fear and pain for a man who had been kind to him.

Plo had also taken him to visit Obi-Wan later, once the injured man was conscious and healed enough for visitors.

The damage done hadn't been to his face, and Anakin couldn't see it on his throat or arms— all that was out from under the white medical sheets.

The short sleeves of the medical gown and the missing gloves allowed Anakin to see the metal arms and fingers, almost delicate in their machinery.

The finest the Order could procure.

When Obi-Wan caught sight of Anakin, a small smile lit his worn face.

 

* * *

 

Five years passed. Anakin turned fourteen.

It was a month past time when Obi-Wan should have been taken. Some in the Order suggested maybe the Sith lord was dead. Others hoped maybe he had decided Obi-Wan was a waste of time and would never turn.

Most were braced for something truly horrific to happen.

There was a strain in Obi-Wan's Force signature and forehead that would be hard to miss, despite shielding.  _Waiting_ for the inevitable was almost as cruel as the knives themselves.

_Somehow he's lived for a decade and a half with this hanging over him, and hasn't gone mad or vicious._

He didn't deserve to be left waiting in suspense.

He'd temporarily moved into Windu's apartment, and a Council member was with him at all times, trying to at least gain  _information_ from when Obi-Wan was finally taken, if it turned out they once again couldn't prevent it.

They couldn't catch the Sith if they knew  _nothing._

Obi-Wan submitted, allowed them to put him on Temple duty for the time being.

Anakin had asked him for how long, and he'd received a strained smile. “Until the cycle is complete,” was the murmured reply. “And then I'll go back out in the field. I want to be a Jedi, and I'm going to  _be_ one until there's not enough brain left in my skull to make my own decisions.”

Anakin could respect his determination to  _live,_ and at the same time he couldn't understand it. To struggle against a phantom that had eluded all their efforts, escaped the best of the best...

_How can you find it in you to smile at all anymore? Why haven't you punched your brains out?_

Defiance, Anakin would have assumed, except dogged defiance with no other motivators left people embittered husks of what they once were. Perhaps their point was made, perhaps they didn't give in, but they were never the same.

Obi-Wan Kenobi might be haunted, shadowed and tormented, but he was still  _living_ with a determination that left Anakin close to worshiping him as a deity of endurance and grace.

He would need that faith, a month after his birthday.

Would need it so... damn... much.

 

* * *

 

There were hands on him.

Not the warm, aging hands of the Sith who had— oh,  _Force—_

But the cold of durasteel, and his ears heard the gentle whirring of servomotors.

Anakin forced his eyelids open even as he trembled with leftover terror.

He found Obi-Wan Kenobi bent over his medical bed, weeping silent tears.

When the knight saw he'd awakened, the strong, artificial hand gripped tight Anakin's own still living hand.

No words between them were necessary, in those first agonized moments of Anakin's returned consciousness. Just Anakin trying to hold on as his world tipped crazily and threatened to throw him into a bottomless abyss.

Obi-Wan held on.

Tears of pain, helplessness, and fear slipped down Anakin's cheeks, mirroring Obi-Wan's, though Anakin wasn't sure what  _his_ were of.

_I don't think he'll be hurting you anymore._

And yet maybe that's why Obi-Wan was crying.

After what had happened— the terror of realizing he'd been caught, the even worse horror once he realized he was strapped to an operating chair—

If Sidious turned his attention to someone else, Anakin would feel terrible for them, would fight for them, but he would be  _relieved, so relieved,_ and he would despise himself for it— 

But here Obi-Wan was, anguished because that attention was no longer focused on the redesigned knight.

_He would take it for me, if he could._ Anakin couldn't tell how he knew it, he just did.

“Master—?” he asked, his voice rasping.

Obi-Wan glanced back, to the side, and Anakin followed his gaze.

Plo Koon sat slumped in a chair, head back against the wall, sound asleep.

“He's been here since we recovered you, two days ago,” Obi-Wan whispered. “He hasn't slept since you disappeared.”

“How long did he have me?” Anakin asked, still shaking, still clinging to that steady, metal hand.

Obi-Wan's eye crinkled in pain. “Seven hours. How much of it were you awake for?”

“Two hours?” Anakin replied, thinking of the chrono above the operating theater.

Obi-Wan gave a nod.

“He's breaking me in slowly, isn't he?”

“It might have just been the once,” Obi-Wan whispered. “He might not want more from you. It might be over.”

Anakin squeezed his hand tighter. “Don't... don't lie to me. Please. Not about this. I can't—”

“Forgive me.” Obi-Wan's gaze fell, a new tear slipped down his cheek. “You're right. You deserve— yes. It was an hour less than my first time.”

“What was he doing, when I  _wasn't_ awake?” Anakin felt panic pulse in his throat, frightening,  _terrible—_

“Transporting you, setting up, cleaning up to not leave a trace. Bringing you home.”

“I can't do this, Obi-Wan,” Anakin choked. “I  _can't—_ I've seen what he's done to you over the years and I  _cannot survive this—_ ”

The Force twisted around him, his pain throbbing, echoing—

A familiar hand touched his back before settling on his shoulder, a comforting weight, the lethal claws safe against his body. Anakin felt the protective cloak of the Force that Plo Koon wrapped around him to comfort the wounded Padawan.

Anakin lay back in the care of these two and let himself weep for the future of an average Jedi that he wouldn't have...

And for the future he would have instead.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Dooku had not expected  _ the thing  _ to storm brazenly through the great temple on Dromund Kaas.

And as  _ it  _ seized one of the precious holocrons and smashed it on the ground, Dooku winced.

“I don't care if it's cameras or the darkness itself by which this place is monitored, but I  _ demand  _ to be taken before the Sith Master.”

A precious scroll, four thousand years old,  _ burned through  _ with a blue lightsaber—!

Dooku was out of his chair in an instant and racing through the senate halls to reach his master. He could almost feel  _ the thing's  _ cold, calculating destruction as it continued.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, this looks important.” Obi-Wan sauntered over to a pedestal on which lay a mask. The thing reeked of agony and death.

_ Two things I know rather a lot about.  _

He kicked out a metal foot, and it smashed through the stone, toppling the thing over to crack and crumble on the floor.

“Sorry,  _ my bad, _ ” Obi-Wan purred. “Let me just pick it up and put it on the shelf.” He tucked the tip of his ignited lightsaber beneath the mask and lifted up.

The blade cut through the leather and bone like honey.

“That's odd, I'll just try again.”

“ _ Enough! _ ”

Obi-Wan turned, his blood turning a bitter cold. He  _ knew  _ that voice. “Grandmaster. Fancy meeting you here.”  
“ _ Enough  _ with this  _ temper-tantrum! _ ”

“Oh, I think you'll find I'm rather alarmingly calm.” Obi-Wan's lip curled in an unpleasant smile. “And  _ you  _ aren't the Sith Master, so clearly my work here is not done.”

Dooku surged forward, up the steps, fury in his eyes. “No more destruction.”

“See, I would love to comply, I was raised to respect my elders— even those that have left the Order— but I have a rather strong desire to schedule a meeting with my sculptor.  _ Now. _ ”

“And he will  _ be here, _ ” Dooku snapped. “Just stop  _ breaking things!  _ You have no  _ idea  _ what you're destroying!”

“Oh, you're right. That scroll I burned up? Didn't even peek inside. Who knows what  _ wonders of the universe  _ are lost,” Obi-Wan lamented before he grinned. “Except... I don't care. Funny how decades of torture can do that to a man.  _ Also  _ funny how you seem to know he's on his way...  _ you.  _ Upstanding defender of the Little Guy in politics and in life.”

Obi-Wan prowled closer, eyes turning vicious. “I have this sneaking suspicion that you know who he is... and just don't care what he's done to me, Qui-Gon's beloved child. What is he giving you? You already have a frip-ton of money. Fame? You're a household name on every Republic world, and even many that  _ aren't  _ Republic. Sex? Force preserve us, but you've certainly got enough slaves on Serenno to appeal to your any whim.”

“You're  _ vulgar. _ ”

“See, a couple decades ago, you would have referred to me as a vulgar  _ child. _ I'm not a person to you anymore, am I,  _ Dooku _ ? I see the contempt in your eyes, the disgust. A little fear that I might  _ touch  _ you. Might soil the  _ Count of Serenno's  _ precious, costly skin. I know what he's offered you. Power. You sick,  _ greedy  _ old man.”

Dooku's lip curled. “How ashamed Qui-Gon would be of your rash words,  _ droid. _ ”

“I'd be in good company, then. The shameful apprentice, and the shameful former master. Qui-Gon can disown us both. But I'm rather tired of talking. You've stalled for your master, and he hasn't come. Would you like to engage in a battle where only you care to save the furniture? I rather think I'd like a spar.”

“No fighting,” Dooku snapped. “ _ Every single item  _ in this room has more value than your  _ entire life. _ ”

Obi-Wan grinned. “I rather like the sound of that. It must mean that for every vase I break, the more valuable  _ I  _ become. And who doesn't want to feel powerful, isn't that  _ right,  _ you crone? You  _ lived  _ your life, but still you intend to  _ suck  _ the life out of the young. Because you're too precious for this world to lose to something as  _ ordinary  _ and  _ equalizing  _ as death of old age. You think  _ I'm  _ despicable. I don't bow at the feet of a man who carves off limbs from small boys for kicks.”

“Oh, but I think you do.” And  _ there  _ was the voice. The one had haunted Obi-Wan's life every step of the fripping way.

The Force dragged him down the steps, past Dooku, and to the black-robed being who had joined them.

The Sith didn't force Obi-Wan to kneel using the same invisible grip. Instead, he pressed his will against Obi-Wan's, and the little alterations made in Obi-Wan's brain strained to disobey, fought until he bled from his nose, but he crashed to his knees in the end.

A fond hand reached out, caressed his hair, cheek, jaw.

Obi-Wan refused to shudder.

“You have my attention,” the Sith Master purred. “I'm rather pleased with your demonstration of petulance. I didn't think you had it in you. Only it wasn't, was it? Willfulness, yes. Heat of the moment and uncalculated? No. You thought about this quite a bit, didn't you, my apprentice? You plotted how to draw me out?”  
“Why did you cast me aside?” Obi-Wan asked, not pulling away from the hand.

Surprised pleasure whispered through the Force around them. “Jealous, are you, of the little Chosen One?”

“What? You thought I wouldn't notice you'd  _ abandoned  _ me?” Obi-Wan challenged.

The Sith hummed in delight. “Are you so possessive of our time together, my apprentice? So eager for the final tap of the chisel?”

“You don't seem to be the the type to waste your energy,” Obi-Wan replied. “After spending so many years in shaping me, to just leave me to rot, or to have me destroyed would be a waste of your time and effort.”

“You make a rather good point,” the Sith chuckled.

Dooku's disgust roiled through the Force. “Master, you no longer need it. Discard this thing and let us step into the future!”

“ _ Needing  _ it has never been part of the equation,” Sidious purred. “This has always been about aesthetics.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, but this is as far as the idea went, and then the path ahead just vanished. So we've traded one unsatisfying ending for another...


End file.
